To Hell and Back for You

Chapter 9: Demons

"What the fuck," I couldn't help from saying aloud, ''Are you being figurative or...''

The girl beside me dropped her bottom lip and cocked her head to shake it. I imagined she was thinking something along the lines of 'oh wow, what an idiot.' I looked past her to her posse for a moment to see that all of them were retaining the same somber expressions and stances.

It shouldn't have been a surprise at that point that they were ghosts or something, yet my brain just couldn't allow me to immediately accept it. The fact that these little assholes had been pretty shitty didn't help either.

''Okay,'' my gaze dithered between Emma and the other teens standing behind her while I waited for some manner of evidence, or for them to get tired of toying with me,''The four of you are dead. Got it.''

''Just prove it to him, Em, so we can move forward with this,'' one of the young boys rolled his eyes.

Their leader gave an exasperated sigh as she stood, peering down at me, ''Where's your razor?'' she demanded.

''Um, what?''

With heavy stomp toward me, she grabbed my wrist before I could even think to react. Pulling on it harshly until my forearm was vertical directly in front of my face, she repeated angrily, ''Where is your razor?''

I looked from the cuts and scars on my arm, back to her, ''It's in the den,'' I almost whispered.

She threw my arm down and stormed out of the bedroom, her friends following quickly behind. I sat on the mattress watching after them until all were out of sight, then I glanced around the room. If this wasn't a dream... I put my hands onto the blankets beside me and rubbed them between my fingers. Not a dream. If this wasn't in my head, like my mind finally had melt down for good, then what the hell had I gotten myself into?

''Hey! Get your ass in here!'' Emma called from the other room.

I took a deep breath and got to my feet. How pathetic was I being a grown man and letting some teenage girl boss me around? Well, if McGraff had killed her and his last murders had been three decades ago, then I guess she was actually older than me. I sauntered into the room at the other end of the hallway. 

Goth princess had located the box-cutter that I had left on the coffee table and was standing in front of the TV waiting for me. The guy with the bat was leaning against the front door of my apartment, frowning and not appearing to be focused on anything in particular while the two others had made themselves comfortable on my couch, eyes on their leader.

Emma slid the utility blade in her hand open two notches. I listened to the familiar clicking sound of the tool settling into place. Gripping the handle firmly, she carefully reached it over to her opposite arm and rested the blade against her skin.

''Wait, wait just a second,'' I spoke, as what little sense I had caught up with what she was doing. One of the kids on the sofa twisted his neck to laugh at me while the other kept his sight trained on Emma, a wicked grin stretching across his face. Bat boy at the door stayed the same. 

''Don't-'' I started again although I should have known that any protest of the angsty gang was futile. 

In one quick, fell swoop, she dug the blade deeply into her inner wrist and dragged it upward through the entire length of her forearm, ripping the flesh apart. Blood gushed out in various spots as the veins and arteries were torn before easing to slight, sporadic spurts of crimson. The thick red liquid dripped across the white, undamaged parts of her skin like rivers. 

These streams met at her elbow and fell to the floor beneath where she stood. My vision followed the drips all the way to the ground, observing as they stained the once beige carpet an almost sickening maroon color. For a moment, I forgot where it was coming from and what was going on. All I could think about was how much there was, how it had to mean death, and how that thought oddly both scared and comforted me.